Transcendence
by Skylarcat
Summary: Giving up didn't mean she was weak, it meant that she was strong enough to let him go, or so she told herself.


**Title:** Transcendence  
**Author:** Skylarcat  
**Classification:** One shot. Angie Flynn, Oscar Vega.  
**Rating**: Suicide worthy.  
**Feedback:** Doubtful, but always a lovely surprise.  
**Summary:** This nowhere compares to the beautiful piece that was already posted tonight, on similar subject matter, but it's my own attempt to produce a wrist-cutting story, because frankly I am depressed, and I think this may be my last story for a while. I leave our favorite pair the same way they left us this season, completely broken. So screw them.  
**Note:** Flynn and Vega are characters that do not belong to me. Yes, I have used them without permission. However, no copyright infringement is intended. And I will return them intact and a lot more satisfied.

**XXX**

(a moon swims out of a cloud  
a clock strikes midnight  
a finger pulls a trigger  
a bird flies into a mirror)  
-e.e. Cummings

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, beneath the dark harsh fluorescent lights, seeing the shame, and regret that resided there, knowing that this was all she would ever be, an image, a carbon copy of a girl that he used to know. She lifted a hand, spread her fingers apart, and pressed them firmly against the glass, perhaps in another life.

She closed her eyes, feeling completely alone in the universe; impossible really, when considering all the wonders that surrounded her daily, the soft laugh of a baby, the blooming of a flower, but still she was barren; the aching for his presence, the filling of the vacant spot in her heart. She knew she was being selfish, but it was her way of protecting him, from saving him from the heartache that would come from getting involved with her, a martyr in her own mind. Giving up didn't mean she was weak, it meant that she was strong enough to let him go; the truth was she wasn't good enough for him, and in that sense, she had failed him. And because he was worth the sacrifice, because it was the only thing she could offer him; his chance at freedom.

The irony wasn't lost on her, the punchline of an incredibly unamusing joke. It had taken only a minute for her to like him, the first time they had been introduced, an hour after that to fall in love, and now it would take her entire life to forget him, knowing she would never be able to, no matter how hard she tried. Some things just became a part of you, a permanent mark, a scar, always a reminder.

She stood in the darkness, living without sound, except for her heart shattering as it hit the cold concrete, and she released her grip from the sink, her knuckles white, and her palms sweaty from holding on too tightly. It was time for her to face the music, the haunting instrumental cord bonding her to him, finally coming unknotted. His strength and partnership had offered her solace, had saved her, and now she would be leaving it all behind; all that they had shared now a distant memory.

She stepped out, the light becoming brighter, blinding; and she squinted, taking a hesitant step forward. The room stretching out before her in one long motion, she caught him sitting on the edge of his desk watching her, his shoulders falling in defeat. She felt the last of her confidence dissolve as she headed in the direction of her desk, evading his stare. Of course he wouldn't make this easy for her; it wasn't his style to give up so easily.

She dreaded moments like this. When there was everything left to say, and nothing left to be said, and everything was completely quiet. Absurd, really, the people you loved and the reasons why, and how you could never turn it off, no matter how desperately you wanted to. Her biggest fear was coming true; she had become too comfortable with the idea of being alone for the rest of her life and now the risk at something tangible seemed almost foreign to her, and it would almost be amusing, if it weren't happening to her.

Her hand paused against her desk, her fingers lingering over the feel of steel, locking the touch to memory. Five years of her life now reduced to a cardboard box, containing belongings she cared nothing about, the only thing that meant something stood reserved behind her, and she fought the urge to turn around, to face him, to beg him for forgiveness. Love had made her a fool, had set her on fire, and now watched as she burned a slow agonizing death, unable to cry out his name. Moving on was simple, it was leaving him behind that made it so difficult.

He loved her, she knew. And he would give her time, if that is what she needed, he would wait and wait, because to him, she was worth waiting for, and she couldn't allow him to spend his whole life waiting for something she wasn't even sure she was able to give.

She wanted to sleep for a thousand years, to simply not exist, and she bit her bottom lip as she felt him step up behind her. Flinched, as his hands came to rest against her shoulders, closing her eyes, she imagined herself a million miles away. Her love for him was the most painful kind, the unspoken kind; the kind that withheld touching, afraid of the truth it would reveal just from the stroke of hand along a cheek, unexpressed love never went away. She would have cried right then, if she believed she would be better for it, but the sadness would still be there, in her spine for the rest of her life. So she pulled away from his touch, and tried to pretend that she didn't notice the hurt in his eyes.

"Don't make this any harder than it already is," she said, heading towards the elevator, of course he followed her.

"It doesn't have to be hard," he answered, leaning against the metal of the elevator, his head bowed.

It felt familiar, standing there with him, frighteningly, like being home.

She placed the cardboard box down and turned, entwining her hands with his. Her hands, instruments within themselves; used to point and accuse, to push people away, and now they seemed so small in his. Late at night when the world would sleep, she would stay up and think of him, and how he looked at that very moment, so completely broken, and so shockingly hopeful. That would be the dream that would lure her to sleep, the knowledge that he was out there, simply breathing and existing in the same world as she.

She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her forehead lingering against his own, sharing his breath, and all the not quite, the not yet, the not at all, suspended around them in a quiet hush. And she felt it, that inexplicable sensation of their relationship becoming past-tense, each breath fraught with implications; each touch becoming a little more sterile, each withdrawal a little more permanent.

She was tired of acting like she didn't care; it was a cover-up, because she cared too much, more than he could possibly ever know. She would miss him, because her life had become so entangled with his own that she didn't know who she was anymore without him.

She rested her head in the scope of his neck, brushing her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you every time something good happens because it's you I'll want to share it with. I'm going to me you every time I'm troubled because you understand me so well. I am going to miss you every time I laugh and every time I cry, because you were the most important thing in my life; my best friend, but I have to do this. I have to let you. You'll understand some day."

He pushed her away, his eyes flashing dangerously dark. "Then go on, go be a coward. But believe me; love is everything it's cracked up to be. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. It's your loss."

She felt the tears streak down her face in painful submission, she deserved this; it was her fault. She placed a hand hesitantly on his shoulder, grasping onto the warmth it offered. "I know you're angry."

"I'm not angry with you," he said, his voice softer now. "I'm pissed at myself, for getting attached, for making you my life, for depending on you, for thinking about you, for not being able to hate you. I may not understand anything about the world or why things happen, but you always made sense to me. How I felt about you. That was enough. I just wish it was enough for you."

She stepped back painfully aware of the damage she inflicted, and bent, picking up the cardboard box once more. Love never died quickly. It died because people didn't know how to nourish it. It died from betrayals, from lies, from simple weariness of always trying. She had killed it, snuffed it out like a flame of a candle. She wanted to tell him about all the sad things, so he would understand her, know her better than any other person, and she would be reserved for only him. But her lips drew still, a quiet hush of her breathing. She felt her world turn upside down, the spinning in circle, around and around, faster and faster until she lost her balance, until she fell. And then she felt it, the oblivion, the darkness, the quiet that comes from being rendered hopeless.

She turned, walking away, counting each of her steps, waiting and praying that he would stop her, to chase after her, but he never came, and the only sound she heard was the clicking of the door closing behind her.


End file.
